


Findings

by Narya_Flame



Series: Nárë a Lindalë [18]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: First Age, Grief, Loss, M/M, Remembrance, The Great Journey, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:40:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29272626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narya_Flame/pseuds/Narya_Flame
Summary: Maedhros and Fingon journey together during the Long Peace, and make an unexpected and poignant discovery.
Relationships: Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo
Series: Nárë a Lindalë [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1133360
Comments: 31
Kudos: 37
Collections: 2021 My Slashy Valentine





	Findings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [platinum_firebird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/platinum_firebird/gifts).



**Beleriand**

**F. A. 292**

“I thought it was supposed to be warm in the south?” Fingon complained.

Maedhros laughed. Flecks of snow swirled in the air, skittering back and forth like summer midges. It wasn't settling yet. The flakes were still too fine, though the air was wickedly sharp and the sky was a deep iron grey. A thin blue twilight was falling; frozen chased down from the mountains, and bare, thorny bushes rattled as they clung to the bluffs. “We're not in the south – not really. We're almost directly east of Nargothrond.”

“A long way east.” Fingon shook his hair from his face, but almost immediately a rogue gust blew it back into his mouth. He spat it out and scowled. “We've been following these mountains for days!”

Maedhros reined in his horse and gave a teasing smile. “And here was I thinking you wanted to spend time with me.”

Fingon's face relaxed; he leaned over and grasped his cousin's forearm. “Of course I do – but freezing to death in the snow wasn't quite what I had in mind.”

“We'll find shelter and make camp for the night soon.” Maedhros sent a warm, gentle touch towards Fingon's mind. “I promise.”

The foothills of the Ered Luin were riddled with crevices and caves, and it did not take them long to find one large enough for them, the horses and a small fire.

“Would you see how far back it goes?” Fingon asked. He flashed Maedhros a grin as he unstrapped his pack from his grey gelding. “I have no desire to be awoken in the night by some hungry creature crawling out of the bowels of the mountain, looking for its next meal.”

Maedhros smiled back. He knew well enough what his beloved was about. Every night Maedhros was sent off on some errand or other, so that he did not have to help with making camp or building a fire. He minded it less than he used to, and some things, he admitted to himself, _were_ harder now. Lighting a fire was one of them – although he was perfectly capable of unloading a horse. Still, Fingon had a point; one never knew how far back these mountain caves went, or what might be lurking inside. There was nothing nearby now – he could sense that plainly enough – but the mountain stone had a way of folding in on itself, tucking long passages away between jagged chunks of seemingly solid rock.

There was enough light to see by for a good way. The stone was pale and dry, and creased like dessicated hide. After twenty paces or so, the cave curved around to the left, and the ceiling suddenly lowered; Maedhros had to stoop, and feel his way with his hand. Dust and grit gathered under his nails. Soon he felt the rock jutting outwards in a natural ledge – and then the roof lifted again. He could see almost nothing now, though his other senses pricked, as though the air itself was whispering secrets.

He was about to go back for a lamp when his fingers lighted on something soft and brittle and thin, that disintegrated under his touch like an old spider's web. Maedhros jumped, and cool shock thrilled up his arm.

“Maitimo?”

He must have gasped – or else Fingon had sensed his surprise. “I'm quite alright, Káno.”

“What have you found?”

“I cannot say yet.” Amid the fragments of the cloth – for it had almost certainly been a cloth of some kind – he felt a smooth, hard object with long pointed teeth. A comb? Next to it lay a string of round beads on a thin, dry cord, and a number of slightly larger pieces, some flat, some curved, some polished, and some covered in fine engravings. “Nothing dangerous.” _Or at least, I very much doubt it._

“Wait a moment.” He heard a rustling and thudding, and then a light, high scrape of metal – a lamp's handle, swinging on its hinge. A shaft of ice-blue light pierced the gloom behind him, where the roof of the cave dipped low. Fingon was moving towards him now; even clad in soft leather boots, his footsteps echoed through the cavern's gloom.

“Take care,” Maedhros called. “The ceiling drops quite suddenly.”

“I can see that,” Fingon replied with a bite of impatience in his voice. “What were you doing back here without any light?”  
  
“I was about to return for one.”  
  
“Well, here.” Fingon's voice drew close, and the light grew brighter. “Take this.”

Maedhros gripped the lamp as Fingon stepped out of the low-ceilinged section. He held it above his head, and exhaled softly as its blue light touched his surroundings. “Oh, Káno...”

He had kept to the left as he made his way through in the dark; now he saw that the cavern had opened right up, yawning away to three times their height. The far wall was sheer and smooth, as though it had been polished, and it was covered with paintings – not the bright, intricate murals that had adorned their walls in Aman, nor the great maps that hung in their halls at Himring and Dor-lómin, but dozens of tiny figures in charcoal and ochre. Small, shadowy hunters with stick-like limbs confronted aurochs in the moors; groups gathered around blazing fires while smoke curled into the sky; herds of deer galloped through the hills, pursued by packs of wolves. Further on, a frieze of flecks and fine lines mapped out the stars – then there was a great curved sweep covered with stencilled hands, followed by a series of circular patterns that rolled like wheels as the light moved across them. Finally, there was a vast, broad-shouldered man with feathered braids, galloping on a horse whose hooves left trails of fire in his wake. He blew on a horn with his head thrown back to the skies, and behind him, in straggling lines and small, straying groups, followed the People.

“Sweet Elbereth.” Fingon's blue eyes were wide with awe.

Maedhros swung the light towards the cavern's other side. Sure enough, the now-shattered cloth on the ledge had covered an old comb of yellowing bone, a string of beads carved with spiked, jagged runes, and a number of animal teeth, tusks and bones inked with complex patterns and art.

“What is this?” Fingon murmured. He held out a hand, and then paused. “A shrine?”

“Not quite, I don't think.” Maedhros handed back the lamp, and rested his fingertips on the ledge. He opened his mind to Fingon, letting him feel the whispers of the stone. Love, and warmth...other groups, coming and going, all on the same journey...but fear too...shapes in the shadows, outside and at the back of the cave...a battle fought side by side...a terrible wound...and then grief and sorrow; anger; resignation...the eventual choice to walk on...

“A tomb?” Fingon asked softly.

“A memorial. They would have buried their dead as deep as they could dig.” Maedhros broke the contact and stepped away.

Fingon breathed slowly outwards, and glanced at the back of the cave.

Maedhros smiled – this time utterly without humour. “My thoughts exactly.”

But although the passage had once continued backwards, a cursory investigation showed that the way was now blocked with sharp-edged boulders.

“Nothing can pay us a visit from there,” he said grimly. “Come, my dear; I think we're safe enough.”

In the end Maedhros settled the horses while Fingon built and lit a fire. Gwaedal and Mithroch were calm – a good sign in itself – and outside, the snow had begun to settle. It was still fine and dry, blowing like crystal-dust over the land. Stalks of bare, dead plants poked up through its surface, and when Maedhros turned his face to the mouth of the cave, he felt his skin sing in the bite of the wind.

“Where next?” Fingon asked him, lying in his arms after a meal of stewed rabbit.

Maedhros shook his head and stroked his beloved's hair. “I hadn't thought. I only wanted to have you to myself for a while.” He chuckled quietly. “I hope Maglor is doing what I asked of him, and hasn't got lost in one of his compositions.”

“He wouldn't do that.”

“No. No, you're quite right.” Maglor was a perfectly competent ruler, something they both knew all too well.

Fingon closed his eyes. Maedhros leaned against the cave wall and let his mind drift. The stars sang softly above the clouds; the world below was empty, the silence only broken by the snap of their fire and the hiss of the wind on the snow.

“Do you want to follow their trail?” he asked after a while.

“The Elves on the Journey?” Fingon's lips parted thoughtfully. “They kept going south, didn't they?”  
  
“South, and then west along the Adurant. Then they followed the Gelion out to the sea.”

Fingon shifted in his arms and opened his eyes. “It's strange to think of, is it not? That they risked and lost so much to reach Aman...”

 _A land we chose to flee._ In his mind he saw the long-ago Quendi – their own kin – gathered in this cave, carving tools and toys, perhaps sitting by the fire and watching the first snows fall. He wondered what else lay entombed in the mountains, or perhaps hid under the ice of the pass – and then his thoughts flew to Elenwë, and the loss endured by those who risked the Ice to return to their ancestors' lands.

Aloud, he simply said, “I know.”

Fingon sighed. “I thought we were going east, to the forests and the White Mountains?”

Maedhros kissed his brow and managed a smile. “We are going anywhere that we can find peace from the world, for a while.”

A gust of wind pulled their fire low, and Fingon's hand reached up to cup his face. “You choose, my love.” A gentle thumb stroked over the scars on his cheek. “I will follow wherever you lead.”

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Raiyana for her ever-excellent beta work!


End file.
